I'm working out.

I know that may come as a surprise to some of you, but I've decided to torture myself multiple times a week so that I can be skinny again. I'm not sure when I ever was skinny, other than high school, but I like to look at it as a return to skinniness. Like it's a place I've already been, rather than some unknown land I'm not sure if I'll ever find. Anyway, I'm joining Jen's gym. It's called L.A. Fitness which automatically made me hate it. As if they need to include "L.A." in the title to bring to your mind all of the beautiful, thin, and busty women that are associated with that city. Isn't that why we all workout anyway? So that we can look like we're hot off the set of Baywatch? (*sarcasm*)

Well, I decided that I'm going to have to take 4-5 classes a week. I can't be held responsible for my own workout because I would just go sit in the steam room, so I thought if I commit myself to 4-5 classes a week I might actually see some progress. Today I got out of bed at 7:45 to make it to an 8:30 class. Impressive, I know. I have to say, I was actually pretty excited to see what "Cardio Kickboxing" had in store for me and lets face it- I was amazed that I was actually going. Are you ready for the good part? The class consisted of me, the instructor, and a 19 year-old Russian guy. Maybe he was an 18 year-old Ukrainian, I don't know. The point is that's not exactly my idea of a good workout atmosphere. It's a good thing I couldn't really see anything with my out-of-date-prescription contacts because I surely would have gone home out of humiliation. Anyway, it turns out he stunk at kickboxing, (the guy had such little coordination he kept getting his jumping-jacks messed up) which made the situation more livable. But all-in-all the score is 1 point Anti-workout gods, 0- Rendy. Words of encouragement would be appreciated.
And by the way, this is one post you don't want pictures to accompany.